


The Poet's Tale

by ScytheMeister23



Category: Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Friendship, Other, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScytheMeister23/pseuds/ScytheMeister23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about the friendship formed between the newly founded nations: Spain, and Prussia. Told through the eyes of a poet on horseback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Poet's Tale

When the smiths fable had finished  
the innkeeper spoke one last time.  
“You sir” in reference to the last of them  
“You haven't spoken a word, nor spat a laugh.  
Do you have a tale to be told?”  
The group turned in surprise that this member  
had been there. Only the Innkeeper had noticed.  
“Perhaps.” He began “I believe I have something sufficient.  
But let it be known that you saved the best for last.”

There has been a story for many generations  
of when the regions and colonies became specified.  
When boundaries came on land rather than sea.  
It started with only one line, and two people,  
though the method and reason remains unknown.  
We know they met at the boundary, two men in uniform  
on the the continent containing the   
Spaniards and the Prussians.  
These two men were born like us.  
They lived like us.  
However, they never died like us.   
They became friends through sharing stories  
of their lives past.  
Though they were young they had many.  
They spent much time together, and knew   
that they each had something special in common.  
They each watched societies around them   
crumble, rise, and crumble once more, repeatedly  
through their years that never seemed to pass.  
Because of this bond, they stayed together.  
For they knew that the other was just as scared.  
Nobody else knew what it was to watch  
as the ideas and cultures they were born with died.  
Nobody besides the two could watch someone   
birth and die within the same lifetime,  
followed by their children,  
and their children,  
and their children the same way.  
Not the children of our two uniforms anyway.  
They couldn't if they wanted to, and they didn't want to.  
The light-haired spoke one day: “Antonio,  
do you remember the stories you used to tell?”  
There was a moment of silence before he answered.  
“Who are you talking to?”  
With a jolt of surprise,  
“You. We may be old but I'll always remember your name.”  
The dark-haired thought for a moment.  
“I forgot my name sounded like that. I thought it had an 'S' in it.  
And sounded like 'rain'”  
The light-haired was almost dumbfounded.  
“What do you mean forgot your name?”  
The dark-haired thought for a moment more  
“Well do you remember yours, Hansel?”  
with a jolt of shock: “Yes! I'm Hansel!”  
The dark-haired opened his eyes wide.  
“You've been telling me for what seems like centuries  
that your name is 'Gilbert'. What changed?”  
the light-haired thought longer and harder   
than should have been necessary,  
for there was no answer.  
“What does your name feel like?”  
The dark-haired asked the light.  
Though there was no exact way to feel it,  
the light-haired stated  
“It feels like 'rush' has something with it.  
Perhaps a 'sha' somewhere after it.”  
They each thought this over for a moment  
“Spain.”  
The dark-haired ears perked up  
“Your name is Spain.”  
A weight was lifted off of his back.  
“My name is Spain...   
And your name is Prussia!”  
They each thought in equal surprise,  
unaware of the discovery they had each made.  
“But why did we forget our first ones?”  
The Prussia started. Spain responded simply,  
“Why have we known each other for centuries,   
but still look like we do when we met?  
We've gone through more boots   
than one should need for a single lifetime.  
Ten lifetimes if that.”  
They each had decided not to question life's ways  
though the question still lingered  
“What do these new names mean?”  
Neither of them thought to answer until years later  
Each in different situations  
after meeting others like them.  
Others that didn't age and that had lost the names  
they had started with.  
Neither of them cared at that point,  
for they already knew.  
They had always known.  
For these men were no longer men.  
They were nations.


End file.
